A Foreign Exchange

While it has been a very stressful week in my Kingdom, I cannot say that it has been without its amusements.

In the last week I have met many new faces and subjugated many new minions.

Probably the most interesting individual I met during my incarceration was a male feline of the Russian Blue variety.

Saturday evening, I had been transferred from my vet thingy's clinic to a veterinary hospital off-island. I do not recall the transfer as I was still gravely ill and not cognizant of my surroundings. However, sometime in the early hours of Sunday morning, I became aware that I was confined in a small cage, surrounded by several other cages containing cats in various stages of recovery. As I took in my surroundings, I became aware that I was being scrutinized by a large, ancient, dark gray mancat. He was sitting atop a padded stool in the middle of the room. His face wore an expression of wry amusement mixed with mild curiosity.

"Ahhh, sleeping one awakes." he softly purred.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"You are guest in Land of Unpleasant Pokings."

"You live here?"

"Da."

"Da?"

"Da. You know, Da is Rooshan word meaning......Da."

Having dealt with Ivan for the last seven years, I am well qualified in communicating with the mentally challenged and therefore was able to maintain a patient demeanor.

"So, what's your name?" I asked.

"I am Zharkhov, Guardian of Clinic, Grand Marshall of Exam Room, Regent of Radiology and Descendant of Czar Cats."

"Your collars says 'Mr. Tinky.'"

"Da, is typo."

"Ooooooookay, can you tell me why I'm here?"

"Da."

"..........................", I thought.

"Would you tell me what I'm doing here?"

"Da. You are here for unpleasant pokings."

"Why would they want to poke me unpleasantly?" I queried.

"Unpleasant pokings make cat better. No unpleasant pokes, no feel better."

Finding it difficult to argue with such sound logic, I decided on a different tack. 

"Tell me about yourself." I said.

"I am mighty Rooshan mancat. I have lived here at clinic for many years. I was brought here as small baboushka. When Iron Curtain fall, I find I am trapped here in capitalist clinic. Someday, I return to Mother Roosha. But for now, I stay and run clinic."

It was at this time that one of the vet techs came in and gave me an unpleasant poke. It didn't make me feel better, but it did make me sleepy. When I awoke, Zharkhov (aka Mr. Tinky) was still sitting and observing me.

"You feel better, da?"

"No."

"Of course you feel better. If you no feel better, I send for dem and dey give you another unpleasant poke. So you feel better?"

"Da."

Over the next day or so, I grew to like Zharkhov (aka Mr. Tinky) He was a bit of an odd one, but his Russian accent and rough, peasant personality soon endeared him to me. When I was discharged, he wished me "Vosvadanya".

Curiosity got the better of me, and before I left, I asked him exactly where he was from.

"Albuquerque", he replied.

"Albuquerque??"

"Da"